In Officivm
by Synesthete
Summary: It's a little different.
1. Sede Vacante

"In Officivm"

A/Ns: I've only seen the movie but have heard a little bit about the book. I thought thought it was extremely entertaining, even with the logic holes a mile wide. Just out of some fanficky daydreaming I came up with a slightly different scheme, so this is what it turned into. It probably won't be more than a dozen smallish chapters long. Keep yelling at me so I will finish it!

***** CHANGES from the film: The pope that was murdered would've essentially been the pope during John Paul II's term. We'll call him Pope Paul VII, birth name Carlo Ventresca. The Camerlengo, whom we'll call P draic McKenna Ventresca, Ventresca being his adopted surname, is in his late 20s or early 30s rather than his mid/late 30s. Which would help explain why he isn't a cardinal but is the Camerlengo. ::shrugs:: And, of course, there other other differences you'll discover as you read.

Please do let me know what you think. Oh, and I don't own it, blah, blah, blah. Enjoy. :)

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SEDE VACANTE

...-...-...-...-...-...

(THE SEAT BEING VACANT)

Two Benedictine nuns were seen rushing out of the papal apartment and down the stairs. "Camerlengo!", one cried as she saw the youthful man walking in the courtyard below along with Cardinal Baggia who was on a visit from his diocese for the holiday.

The two of them looked up in surprise. "Sister?", asked P draic she bounded to him. When she arrived, he placed a calming hand on her shoulder to help halt her driven forward progression.

It took her a moment to catch her breath and speak. "Il Papa!", she softly cried out, so as not to alert the random passers-by. Her eyes wide and beckoning.

His eyes immediately went wide and worriedly flicked upwards over her towards the apartment before he burst into a flat run, or at least the fastest one his garb would allow, Baggia following, trying to keep up. Once he reached the pope's bedroom door, he approached more slowly, almost not wanting to know what had happened. He could see his father laying perfectly still on his back, a strange, slightly purplish hue to him, with no sound of breathing and no rise or fall to his chest. He moved forward in slow motion as a number of swiss guard, followed soon after by Baggia and two more cardinals, appeared behind him in the doorway as well. At the bedside, P draic knelt half way down and deliberately extended his hands toward one of his father's uncovered hands and held it. It was somewhat stiff and quite cold to the touch. Clearly he was no longer with the living and had not been for a number of hours. He sunk fully to his knees, still clinging to his hand. His head dropped and his breathing became heavy, and in shutting his eyes hard, two tears escaped. A minute later he took a deep breath, and, understanding there would be no answer, re pened his eyes to contemplate his stilled face and ask the traditional question out loud, voice cracking: "Albine... pater... dormisne?"

The guardsmen and cardinals gradually approached, nothing but shocked by this most unfortunate event. After awhile, P draic stood and leant over and kissed him reverently on the forehead before gently letting go of his hand and placing it back down on the sheets. He then stood and retreating backward almost in a stupor. One guard directed him to a nearby chair where he sat, staring at nothing for what seemed like an eternity until he was addressed.

"He is with his father now.", consoled a regretful Cardinal Bertelli, momentarily placing a comforting hand on his back.

P draic lamented. He had adored him since he had been adopted by the man, and for so long he had been the only family P draic had left. Now he was gone from this earth.

The pope's doctor entered and, with a drawn face, began to examine his body. The guards began to trickle out the door for privacy, and once gone, the doctor addressed P draic in Italian: "Father, did you know if he was ill?"

He moved his head slowly in the negative, then looked over at the body and spoke, his voice still not cooperating with him fully. "He was fine last night. Perfectly fine. I don't understand it.", he replied in the same tongue.

"Could it be that he knew but didn't want to say anything?"

His eyes shot up to meet the doctor's. "No.", came the fast reply. "He *was* fine. Certainly. I know my father. There was nothing out of the ordinary about him at any time yesterday." He looked back over to the bed. "He even asked me last night before he went to bed if I would be flying him to Bari today for the Congress."

The doctor nodded dolefully. "I'm sorry, but I can't tell with absolute certainty the cause of death by external examination alone." He left the sentence open-ended as he knew an autopsy was prohibited, as much as P draic and the others may have wanted to know what happened. "My best guess the most likely cause is a stroke, and that he must have passed in his sleep."

The Camerlengo stood without warning, heading in a meandering way for the door with his fingers laced behind his head for a second or two. "P draic," interruped Bertelli, "the ring."

The mention of his duty brought him out of his turbulent emotions, and his hands dropped to his sides. "Yes, of course. Thank you." He looked over to his father's body and once again approached him. He made the sign of the cross and whispered "Forgive me, Father." before slipping off his Ring of the Fisherman. With a final kiss to the dead man's forehead, he left the room to the quiet and solitude of his own to grieve, not for his father's sake but for his own, well aware it was an irrational human failing to do so. And he prayed.


	2. Abhine Hebdomada Vna

ABHINE HEBDOMADA VNA

(ONE WEEK EARLIER)

It was a warm morning to begin the second day of spring and the day after Palm Sunday, and P draic decided he needed an hour or so of down time, maybe for a quiet walk through the Vatican Gardens. He always found it comforting to be able to separate himself from the throngs of visitors to the city, especially during this time of year, and as the gardens were hardly what people traveled there to see, it was generally a rather tranquil place to find oneself. It was a bright, clear day, and the early sunlight came streaking in between the trees, blinking at him as he made his way. Not long into the walk, he turned a corner behind a row of bushes to find, not three meters in front of him, a young woman in a muted dress with long, neatly curled hair, her side to him, kneeled in prayer. A shaft of light illuminated her producing a glare that partially obscured his vision. The sight caused him to stop dead in his tracks and experience an emotion somewhere between astonishment and veneration. Was he truly seeing an angel in person or was she a statue carved by a master he did not know of? Moments later, in a graceful rise, she stood solemnly, then turned to him when she noticed his figure out of the corner of her eye. He sobered as he recognized her, and, as she recognized him, her mouth blossomed into a wide smile.

"Madeline!" He couldn't believe it was her and continued again in her direction. She hurried over to him, and they found themselves in a tight hug before somewhat pulling apart. "It is so good to see you after all these years." He studied her face it was naturally older than he remembered when they were fourteen, of course, but still so much herself. "And it's not that I'm complaining, but what are you doing here?"

She hadn't stopped smiling but added to it a questioning look. "In your last e-mail, you said I should come for a visit, and you would show me around. I didn't want to waste time." The two of them had kept in touch for years, ever since they first met, but they hadn't seen each other in person since then. It was in southern Sicily, where she, her younger sister, and her parents had been on vacation from England to visit her aunt and uncle. There had been a devastating earthquake there that killed her immediate family and would have left her homeless had it not been for her relatives who took her in and cared for her. Just after the quake, the then-Archbishop Ventresca visited, along with P draic, to offer blessings for the dead and religious and moral support for the living. He remembered seeing her, off to the side away from everyone else, kneeling in prayer then for what she had later told him was the first time for her. In discovering she had lost her family, he had instantly empathized with her, and they had spent most of the time he'd had there talking. Three days later when he and his father had to leave, he asked for her to keep in touch, and they had come to know each other very well through the fond letters they had exchanged over the years.

At her explanation, his smile, in contrast to hers, faded considerably, but it couldn't be entirely extinguished simply by virtue of her presence. "I never sent you an e-mail saying that." He searched her eyes for understanding, but she did not understand herself.

"But... It came from you.", she visually recalled reading the e-mail. "I... I'm sure of it."

He made a face and cocked his head. He would have definitely remembered sending an e-mail like that. He had sent it in his dreams, no doubt, but he hadn't never found himself able to in reality. He purposefully hadn't wanted to invite her here all these years not only because he was concerned of what might be thought of him by others in doing such a thing, but to a greater degree, he was concerned about how he would behave. He had decided neither would have reflected well upon his father, and so he hadn't. Nonetheless, he knew first-hand all about the expression 'absence makes the heart grow fonder'. He could hardly turn her away immediately, at least now that she was here, of that he was sure. "Well then, the first stop on your tour here is my office." She nodded, and the smiles partially and then mostly returned as they made their way side by side to the buildings.

... - ... - ...

He opened the door and motioned for her to go ahead. "Please.", he indicated to her to take a seat near his desk, at which he sat in front of and opened his e-mail. After a moment of searching for the message in question, reading it, and finding that it was indeed sent from him, he started to question his own sanity. "Maybe I've begun to sleepwalk and no ne's told me?", he half-kidded, sitting there staring at the screen.

She was embarrassed for herself but even moreso concerned for him. "If you didn't write it, who could have? Do many people have access to your office?"

"No, only the Swiss Guard. And my father, if he wanted." He shook his head. "What a strange thing. I can't imagine why someone would use my computer and account to send you a message to come here." He shut down said computer so it would require his password to be usable once more.

"Best case scenario, then, I suppose, is that your father has played a joke? But why he would I have no idea. Maybe he intended it as a nice surprise."

"I don't know either, but I am surprised.", he stood and came around the desk, hand out to pull her up. "And very happy to see you. Let's go ask him?"

Hand in his but not having stood yet, her voice froze in her throat. 'He is just up and inviting me to meet with the pope personally?', she questioned herself. 'What other casual visitors to the Vatican receive that offer? Well, not so many, really, of course.' "A...Are you sure I should go with you?"

It was clear she hadn't been dishonest about sending the e-mail, and he had no reason not to trust her. He was certain he'd known her on a deeper level than that for too long. "Yes. He would be so glad to see you too and know you are doing well." His grin calmed her sudden nerves, and she used his hand to pull her up. They let go awkwardly, and the moment broken, he turned and lead her out, asking the guard on the outside to please lock up. What the guard would actually end up doing he now wasn't entirely sure.


End file.
